


Not Quite An Angel

by AnxiousCoffee (TheHallowedAngel)



Series: Midnight, Texas (Both Media Sources) [1]
Category: Midnight Texas (TV), Midnight Texas Series - Charlaine Harris
Genre: Allergies, Bobo Is Sensitive To Ginger, Bobo/Manfred If You Squint, Emetophilia, Fiji is just mentioned, Food Poisoning, Gen, I wanted to more heavily hint to them having feelings for each other but I prefer slow burn romance, Sick Bobo, Sickfic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 15:25:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17449568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHallowedAngel/pseuds/AnxiousCoffee
Summary: Bobo decided it was a good idea to risk his health over an old meal, Fiji decided it was up to her to give him something to help, and Manfred didn't get to decide much at all.AKA Bobo didn't tell Fiji he was mildly allergic to ginger and so it just made his situation worse.(Written based on the books but it fits well enough with the TV show if you want it to.)





	Not Quite An Angel

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to my good friend Emily for beta reading the fic and for always keeping me inspired to write, and to Cas and Cab, for being so dang interested and nice even though neither of them know the fandom.

Manfred, as a rule, did not entertain the idea of disturbing Bobo when he had a client in the shop. Midnight wasn't a very busy town and so it was hard to drum up much business around here; every second counted. 

But this intrusion was at the request of Fiji Cavanaugh, a woman Manfred scarce wanted to deny the requests of, and while the call had startled him a little, he was happy to comply with her assignment.

Fiji had told him she was concerned about Bobo's health, something about his consumption of a dubious sausage casserole pulled from deep in his freezer last night. Manfred had resisted the urge to ask her how she knew about that- previous experience had told him nothing if not that Fiji had eyes that rarely missed anything around here. Though she'd already taken hum some ginger tea, to help his stomach settle, she still felt it necessary for Manfred to check.

-

The door was stiffer than usual, Manfred noted, and the hinges protested as he made his presence known to both the customer and to Bobo Winthrop, who was indeed looking as though he had seen better times.

"Manfred!" Bobo beamed, offering the psychic a warm smile, "How can I be of assistance?" He ran a hand through his hair, usually well kept but today free of product and falling in front of his eyes. The customer seemed to sense that Manfred had intention that would require a lot of Bobo's time and hurriedly handed over a few coins and crumpled notes and then scooped up whatever it was they had plucked from the depths of Bobo's shop. 

As they passed Manfred he got one of those feelings, the kind of feeling he got when someone had a lot to hide, like an itch on the very top of the centre of his spine- the one place he never could reach. 

"Finally sold one of those stuffed-...uh, things." Bobo said, drawing Manfred's attention back to him. He gestured to the corner of the pawn shop that he kept them in, a curious little bunch of weirdly posed creatures all once loved as pets, no doubt. The most interesting was probably the raccoon, a very striking pose given to him. 

"Yeah, uh, congrats I guess." Manfred scratched the back of his neck and approached the front desk slowly, giving himself enough time to run his eyes over Bobo's appearance.

He was sat on his favourite chair, the one in front of the desk, and he was somewhat favouring a slightly hunched position that contrasted greatly against his usually perfect posture. His face was ashen, sickly, and his eyes were ringed in an almost bruise like colour, Manfred almost wondered if he had been in a fight with that strange customer. 

But that was ridiculous. There's no way bruises would darken that much that quickly. Bobo remained silent, he was an intelligent man and he knew when someone had an ulterior motive.

"I won't lie to you, Bobo, Fiji sent me. She mentioned a suspicious casserole" There was a pause and a chuckle and then a slow nod.

"She caught that, huh?" Manfred watched as a warm smile graced his face, a light blush on his cheeks. “That'll be what the tea was about. Ginger, Feej said it'd help”

"Yeah, and forgive my intrusion but you've looked better." By now he was stood right in front of Bobo, both hands jammed into the opposing armpits. 

Don't worry, he was clean.

Manfred hadn't even planned on leaving the house, up until five minutes ago he had only been wearing a oversized sweater, boxer briefs and questionably patterned socks. He was answering his emails, filtering potential clients out of hoaxes and harassers, so there had been no need to be any more dressed that was comfortable. He'd pulled on the jeans (pulled off the socks) and slipped on a pair of flats before coming down, of course.

"You know Fiji, never misses a thing." Bobo nodded again, working his jaw but not making a sound. He threw an arm over his stomach, using the other hand to push his hair back out of his face.

Manfred did much the same with his own hair; he hadn't styled it this morning, platinum locks a mess atop his head. "So, how you feeling?" 

There was a moment of hesitation, the silence falling heavily over the two of them as Bobo breathed in, swallowed nothing a couple of times, and then breathed out. 

"Honestly? Not too hot." He scrubbed his hand over his mouth, tugging gently on his bottom lip before he let his hand fall back into his lap. A harsh cramp tore across his abdomen and his breath caught in his throat, Manfred watched him tense up and swallow down something more than nothing. Bobo flexed his jaw again, breathing sporadically until he stopped all together and pushed up from the chair. 

"Where are you-" Manfred couldn't finish his sentence, Bobo had already walked out of the door at the back of the shop and disappeared around the corner. Manfred was quick to get up to follow, chasing the ghost of his footsteps to the downstairs bathroom- Bobo was sat on the rim of the bath with both hands in his hair. 

Clearly this was a familiar theme in his life. He moved almost as though this very scenario was practiced so much that his body could do it without him, his chest would rise and his stomach wold jolt beneath his shirt and he would freeze up until the cramping passed. 

"Fiji don't know that I'm allergic to ginger." He said, voice thick and wavering; he lowered a hand to cover his mouth, face growing paler by the second. Manfred's own complexion grew whiter as he let the words sink in.

"Not going to stop breathing, I trust?"

Bobo shook his head and moved so that he was crouched in front of the toilet- it was worth noting, Manfred decided, that he did so very slowly. He wasn't used to being in the position of a caretaker but he supposed it was as easy as one would expect. You just follow the boundaries of the person in need and stick to what you know, right?

"Are you opposed to physical contact?" He perched himself precariously on the edge of the bath, almost the exact same spot Bobo had taken before. It was pleasantly warm.

Bobo shook his head again and then lifted the seat up, breathing in as controlled a manner as he could manage. Manfred used one hand, the one with the least rings scattered about his fingers, to collect all the hair that fell in front of Bobo's face, holding it down to the top of his head with gentle pressure. The other hand, his left, settled on the back of Bobo's neck. 

Manfred felt him relax just slightly, likely because of how cold his hands were, and wilt over the bowl.

"I hate this." He muttered, suddenly very lethargic.

"I doubt many people enjoy the process, Bobo." Manfred kept a cool tone, smiling as much as he dare.

"You know what I mean, damn it." Bobo shifted in place, opting instead to kneel. Mostly so he could feel his feet again.

"I do. But there's no escaping it, I'm afraid." There was a verbal shrug somewhere in that sentence, Bobo could hear it. 

Nothing else needed be said and so the bathroom fell into relative silence, nothing but the buzz of the old light above them to disturb the peace, and Manfred found himself watching Bobo with a renewed interest. Up until now he had never really thought about it, but Bobo was a very pretty person- not in the same way as Fiji or Lemuel (who was a very, very beautiful man) but pretty all the same. He had eyes that shone in all lights, always full of kindness and good intentions in ways Manfred had never seen before, and he had a softer jawline that complimented his thin face and subtle cheekbones. His nose fit his face too, not angular but not flat, and his eyelashes we much longer than Manfred's own. 

He had always known Bobo had been graced with good looks, he was comfortable enough with his own sexuality to admit when he saw a real looker of the same sex, but this truly was the first time he'd been close enough to really look at him. Even with the bags under his eyes and the ashen tone to his skin, he was quite handsome.

"Fuck-" Bobo cursed in a thick voice before he propped both his elbows on the rim of the bowl with haste and rested his face in his hands, throat working and shoulders rolling as a series of quick, deep gags crawled up his spine. There was no noise from him until he opened his lips and released harsh flood of ginger tea Fiji had all but forced down his throat, far more than he remembered drinking. He spat, caught his breath, and adjusted his position again before the next series of silent gags hit him.

Manfred massaged the back of his neck as he choked through the second round, this time it was thicker and closer to projectile, leaving Bobo gasping for air by the end of it, his throat raw and nose burning.

"'s comin' out my nose" he grumbled, coughing and sniffling and trying everything he could to clear his nostrils. Manfred couldn't help but chuckle a little; Bobo was really quite sweet and very adorable. 

_ No _ , Manfred scolded himself,  _ not adorable _ .

Bobo's stomach spasmed and heaved and he retched over the water but nothing wanted to come up, Manfred clicked his tongue and frowned. He moved off the edge of the bath, careful to keep a hold of Bobo's hair, and moved the other hand from his neck, crouching behind him and resting it on his stomach.

"What're you-?" Bobo began, casting the briefest glance over his shoulder before air bubbled up his throat and had him back over the bowl to belch in the most embarrassing fashion.

"Helping." Manfred mumbled, applying increasing pressure to the centre of Bobo's gut. 

Bobo felt the ache and churning in his stomach hit a high and he let out a quiet whine before it was all pushing up again. With each press on his midsection, a heave would jolt his frame, a few moments allowed him to wonder if anything was actually going to happen before the bitter taste erupted in his mouth and sick spilled past his lips again. Stubborn strings clung to his chin and he swiped them away with one pass of his hand- he wiped it off on his jeans despite the exclamation of "Ew, Bobo, gross." from behind. 

Bobo sat up straight and closed his eyes, tears burning his cheeks from exertion and from the pain in his gut, panting quietly. Manfred frowned and- hand still in his hair -leant across to tear off a few squares of toilet paper; it’s harder to do with one hand.

“Here, wipe your mouth.” Manfred urged gently, but when Bobo didn’t make a move to take the tissue he settled for wiping it himself, being sure to clean him up as much as possible. For people like Bobo- independent, stoic, full of smiles and little bursts of love -vulnerability took years off of their faces, Manfred had never thought it possible for Bobo to look so young. But here they were. 

Bobo sniffed miserably and gathered the foul taste from all around his mouth to spit it into the toilet, breathing as deeply as he dare. He closed his eyes, sick of looking at the mess in the bowl.

As soon as Manfred was certain Bobo wasn’t going to throw up again, he let the golden strands go. Bobo couldn’t stop himself from missing the presence of it; Manfred was someone you could be vulnerable around without worrying about being thought less of.

“Sorry,” Bobo said in a pitiful voice, casting his gaze to the floor and running his clean hand through his hair. It wasn’t the same, he realised.

“No trouble, Bobo, everyone gets sick sometimes. It’s no bother” Manfred offered him a smile, the correct thing to do he assumed, and then made a move to stand up. His knees protested the attempt but with the sink to use as leverage, he was up in no time. Bobo was smiling, shaking his head. “What?” Manfred inquired, indignant.

“Nothin’, ‘s just that you move like you’re my age.” moving one leg to plant his foot firmly against the tiles, Bobo clambered to his feet, flushing the toilet with a grim expression. “Don’t feel no better, maybe even worse now my stomach is empty.” he grumbled, pulling the bottom of his shirt up to wipe his eyes and get to any mess Manfred had missed. As soon as Manfred saw the briefest peek of skin he’d turned away, flushing pink, though he still saw enough to call Bobo gross again. 

“What? Needs washin’ anyways.” he still looked like shit, but he managed a grin all the same. Manfred found himself laughing despite great efforts not too, jamming his hands back into his front pockets.

“You’re something else, Bobo Winthrop, anyone ever tell you that?”

“Yeah, reckon I’ve been told as much, well, at least three times now” he was massaging his stomach through his shirt, trying to work the tension from his muscles. Manfred, taking pity on him, took a brief moment to run through the contents of his medical cabinet in his head.

“I think I have some Piriton syrup in my bathroom? And some pepto too, if that would help, it’ll be easier than trying to swallow tablets.” Manfred casually left out the part about how he couldn’t swallow pills unless they were round, which was in itself absolutely ridiculous both because he was in his 20s and because it was really specific.

Bobo nodded. “That’d be nice. I don’t keep much like that around, never have a use for it and it always goes out of date by the time that I do.” 

Maybe not as practiced as Manfred had thought.  _ Was it even possible for someone to be naturally good at throwing up? _

Manfred then realised he probably had clothes all over his bathroom floor (or, at least, in his laundry corner), but he quickly dismissed the thought; he doubted Bobo would mind. Besides, any bathroom would be better than one that smelt of stomach acid and ginger, even if there were clothes on the floor.


End file.
